So you think you can tell heaven from hell?
by tomatosauce
Summary: "Anthony Stark," came a slow, deep voice, seemingly from nowhere, but thin streaks of blood were slowly making its way down from the blue monster's mouth to his chin, "I've been waiting for you." frostiron
1. Chapter 1

Of course he took pride in what appeared to be selfless acts of bravery. Not everyone was willing to risk their lives for the good of others. Then again, not everyone was a billionaire with a bit of a drinking problem whose only way of getting rid of the nagging boredom was by looking death in the eye. Once you have so much, you can only really fear losing anything when it means losing _everything_. But nothing about it was selfless, not really. Not that he would ever admit the post-traumatic stress ever occurred, but the so called revelation began to fade away soon after he'd been rescued. He was no philanthropist. He wasn't even a genius – a genius would at least have _some _idea as to how to react to the current situation. He, however, had none.

"Loki?" he whispered as quietly as his ego would allow, and still it seemed to echo painfully through the otherwise impossibly quiet room. _Dungeon._

No response. He didn't exactly expect to see him relaxing on a sofa while being fed grapes, but he wasn't expecting _this_either. The moment he stepped inside the chamber, his body instinctively jumped back, only to hit the cold door that had been closed and locked behind him. Before his brain even got the chance to figure out what was going on, acidic fluid came flying up his throat and gushing through his mouth and nose. The air in the room was so hot he could feel it burning his skin, pushing the stench through his pores and into his blood. The walls were soaked and dripping with blood and sweat which must have been vaporizing and condensing for centuries. He could feel it accumulating on the surface of his lungs. He wiped tears from his burning eyes and took a step forward. Hanging from the chains, arms and legs spread out in an X, was a creature so utterly ruined and mutilated, it looked as if it was only a matter of moments before it would decompose completely and become one with the walls. Taking a step closer, he opened his mouth once more, but immediately closed it again. He could taste the decomposing flesh on his tongue. Swallowing away the mix of pity, fear and repulsion, he quickly whispered again, "Loki?"

Although he didn't see the body move, it must have, for a new line slowly began to appear on the dark blue stomach, making a crispy, sickening sound as the dry flesh cracked open. Tony could feel his own stomach swirling. He looked up. A pair of blood-red eyes stared hauntingly into his, completely devoid of life. Tony's heartbeat quickened when adrenaline filled his veins in an instant. All muscle control now focused solely on making every last hair on his body stand up, he begged his brain pathetically to grant him the strength to squeeze his eyes shut. He couldn't look away. The demon's eyes, seemingly oblivious to the anguish of its possessor, held Tony's with the intensity of a thousand dead suns.

"Anthony Stark," came a slow, deep voice, seemingly from nowhere, but thin streaks of blood were slowly making its way down from the blue monster's mouth to his chin, "I've been waiting for you."

With each spoken word, he could hear the flesh cracking, the old dust stirring inside the fiend's body. Tony winced, and like a boy stubbing his toe, emotions were painted on his face almost instantly, before his mind munificently allowed his consciousness a taste of the complete horror that had been building up inside of him. He could barely keep himself from vomiting as he felt his stomach spasm, the muscles in his gullet generously helping the sludge climb up his throat.

"Mortals. So eager to pity and forgive. I expected better from you, Stark."

The familiar arrogance with which the accusation was spat at him slapped him right across the face and sobered him up instantly. Taking a firm step forward, Tony looked at the trickster, this time with a blank expression, determined to stay objective. Trying not to cringe, he swallowed, and the slime was forced back down, taking pity, and _forgiveness_, with it. Strips of skin were hanging from Loki's arms, his torso covered with alligatored flesh. _A frost giant_, he thought,_ and there's not a drop of water left in his body._His feet were black, as if burned with fire and turned into coal. The left leg was twisted in an unnatural position, broken. Tony nodded to himself. _Yep. Yep, yep, yep, _his mind repeated to itself stupidly, very satisfied with its newly discovered serenity and quite keen on keeping it. Seeing no reason to spare the creature another glance, Tony turned around and knocked on the door, which unlocked instantly.

"Where are you going?"

Loki's attempt to make it sound threatening failed miserably, and the question came out as a desperate plea. Tony's eyebrows furrowed. _No, _his brain ordered, _no no no no no. _But it was too late. The voice was so broken, so pathetic, and it came from _Loki_, the proudest creature in the universe. The realisation horrified Tony, his brain suddenly incapable of blocking out the sheer misery of it all. His mouth died up at the thought of the living corpse behind his back. The illusion of tranquillity now gone completely, Tony pressed his lips together determinately, pushing back the thoughts that were threatening to flood his mind.  
"I saw what I came here to see," he said dispassionately, and left.

"Well, he's not _my_king, and you _will_take me to see him or I'll demonstrate to Ass-gard what Earthly magic is capable of."

Tony was known to overreact from time to time. He didn't lose his temper very easily, but when he did, all hell broke loose. Of course he wasn't allowed to enter Asgard in his iron suit. They barely let him keep his pants on. Standing in front of two godly creatures twice his size, he knew he should be feeling intimidated, but anger poured out of every single pore of his body, making him shake visibly. He was just about ready to throw a punch at the guard, even though he would most likely have broken his fist, when a gentle, but firm hand squeezed his shoulder, making him jump.

"This Midgardian is threatening to attack Asgard," calmly reported the guard. Tony turned, ready to throw his fist at whoever it was that interrupted him.

"Is this true, friend?"

"Thor." Tony stared stupidly at the large man in front of him. He'd completely forgotten about him. "Thor, you need to go down to the dungeon. You need to go see Loki," he said quickly, waving and pointing his hands at nothing in particular. Thor would be allowed to see Odin immediately, so all he had to do was make sure he saw what was happening.

"Why?" came the simple question.

"They're going _fucking_ medieval on his ass, Thor. He, he's- it's hotter than hell down there, he, he's a living corpse, Thor. He- They're torturing him!" he choked out, fast, barely managing to keep breathing. There was only one thing you could rely on when it came to Tony Stark: he would keep his cool. He would stay completely unaffected, always keeping his distance. He stood there now, face covered in sweat, and he looked... _laughable_. His mind racing, images of Loki's skin being ripped off his body flashing before his eyes, the stench of the decomposing flesh, the sound of the blood dripping, the sound of the skin cracking, the sound of chains. The sound of Loki's desperate voice. _God, oh god, how could I have left him there, how could I-_

"I know, man of iron."

_What? _"What?"

Thor looked at the ground. "I know. This is his punishment."

Tony stopped shaking. He stood there dumbly, with his mouth half open, staring at the god. He desperately tried to kick-start his brain so he could make some sense of this. But nothing made sense anymore. He was sent to Asgard by Fury to check on their "shared" prisoner, to make sure everything was in order. To make sure that Loki wasn't receiving any privileges because of his royalty. That he was being _properly punished._This wasn't, couldn't have been what any of them had in mind. Barton would surely be thrilled to hear about it, but Tony knew even he would not approve of it were he to witness it personally. No one would agree this form of punishment was suitable for anyone, even Loki. Finally snapping back to reality, Tony noticed Thor had been talking .

"- and it was so ruled by the All-father, who-"

"And we thought Loki was the monster," Tony said quietly, silencing him. He looked at Thor for a long moment, as the god stared back at him, confused. In a self-assured, strangely calm voice, he added "We captured Loki. He is our prisoner. I'm taking him back."


	2. Chapter 2

Tony shifted uncomfortably, scattily wondering if this was Asgard's waiting room, and whether there was even a single piece of furniture on the planet that wasn't made of marble. Every now and then, a lady would saunter by, gracing Tony and the guard with a gentle smile, before carrying on to continue doing nothing for the rest of her life. Before an hour had passed, he decided he _might_ have underestimated SHIELD as he heard very familiar sounding steps echoing through the hall. Fury sat down on the piece of marble that was, quite frankly, definitely already claimed by Tony's personal bubble. Tony gave his a stupid look, opening his mouth to offer a snarky comment, but was interrupted.

"Don't worry, Stark. We're getting him the hell out of there."

For a man with only one eye, he sure was a good observer, seeing as Tony had practiced his indifference face for at least half an hour to make sure he wouldn't be reminded just how illogically worried he was. And then Fury sighed, somehow appearing almost vulnerable, and Tony felt a little better.

"I came here because I thought Loki'd put a spell on you. I have the rest of the Avengers and half the world's army standing by to transport up on my signal. I'll be honest with you. I didn't think it was possible you'd disagree with any sort of punishment for Loki."

Tony straightened defensively. "And you would?"

Fury gave him a tired smile. "You know all of SHIELD's secrets, Stark. You know we're not above torture when it's deemed necessary. We don't need any more information from Loki, so it wouldn't have been necessary, but still I'd give the kid an ass whooping. But this..." he trailed off, absentmindedly massaging his temples. They sat there in silence for a while, until a guard entered the hall, telling them the All-father will see them now.

"I'll take care of this. You go get Loki," Fury said confidently, his voice making it very clear that this was going to end the way he decides it's going to end. He left with the guard, and the one which had been standing in the room since Tony came in earlier, and probably a couple of decades before that, escorted Tony back down to the dungeon. The confidence Fury gave him seemed to fade more with each step he took and Tony wished the journey could last longer, preferably forever. But they reached the door a lot sooner than infinity, the heat already suffocating him, even though he knew he couldn't have felt it through the walls.

"Could you turn down the heat or something?" he blurted nervously, but the guard made no attempt to address his question or obvious fear and simply opened the door with an almost bored expression on his face. The stench that hit him was the same, only worse, as if decades had passed inside the room since last time. His vision was clouded and sparks danced in front of him, his ears seemingly detecting white noise mixed with ancient cries of old prisoners. At the time, it actually seemed quite plausible that the sadistic room was capable of swallowing the voices and savouring them so it could listen to them later. You could almost laugh at how _unbelievably_ horrifying the low, horrendous groans and high-pitched screams of utter despair were. But Tony made his way bravely through the hot air once more, each step accompanied by a shuddering breath. Loki's eyes were closed, Tony's presence unnoticed. Hoping Loki is and would stay unconscious, Tony went to reach for the chains at his feet immediately, but only managing to yank them when they burned his hand. An animalistic scream so loud filled the room that Tony could feel the walls vibrate. He stumbled back and fell to the floor, a cloud of brown dust rising around him. Through his own panicked breathing he could hear the ragged breaths coming from the wounded animal in front of him. He rose quickly and steadied his breathing.

"Loki, it's me, Stark," he said, as if that would somehow calm the blue beast down, raising his hands up. "We're taking you to Earth."

Loki's eyes were wide open, filled with nothing but pure pain. He was panting loudly, staring at the ground intensely, and Tony wondered if he'd heard him. "I need to get you out of those chains," he tried again.

The red eyes shot up, the black pupils impossibly dilated. "Do not. Touch me," he hissed between breaths, his entire body trembling, causing more pain. The fatters had only moved slightly yet blood was running down his ankles, dripping to the ground. Even in this state, he managed to look convincingly threatening.

"Tell me what to do then," Tony urged him. Loki fought to calm himself down, closing his eyes gently.

"The All-father must break the spell that is disabling my magic," he whispered.

"I... I can't do that, Loki. We can't give you your powers back," he said almost apologetically.

"It would take me days to heal myself. Weeks before I'm able to use my magic for anything else," Loki insisted, though calmly, and there was strangely no desperation in the prideful creature's voice.

Tony found the proposition reasonable, and was happy to leave the place to find Fury. His hand froze in a knocking position inches from the door. He frowned. Something was off. Something was very, very wrong here. He was being impossibly understanding. Fury was being impossibly understanding. Thor and Odin had known Loki his entire life, which probably meant for centuries. And Tony knew, for a fact, that Thor truly cared about his brother with all his stupid, naive being, and still he agreed upon this punishment. How sure was he that Loki really hadn't cast a spell on him? He was a scientist, but he didn't know anything about magic; for all he knew Loki _could_have been able to do this despite his physical state. A simple spell, one that didn't require much energy. _Empathy_... Loki could have simply enhanced it. Surely that wouldn't take a lot of effort. And what better way to trick them than by mocking what humans took such pride in; their sense of empathy.

Tony opened his mouth to speak as he turned around to face Loki again, but stopped dead in his tracks. A small, carefully delicate smile greeted him. Suddenly, the hot air around Tony condensed into a small, hovering ball in front of his face, before violently entering Tony's mouth and settling in the middle of his windpipe, expanding slightly so that not a molecule of air, no matter how clever and persuasive, could slip through. Tony fell to his knees, uselessly grabbing at his throat.

"Thank you," he heard the echo, "for your useful sentiments."

Tony woke up in a hospital bed, in a room which smelled, although terrible, like Earth. He was immediately and repeatedly told to relax, which he didn't do at all until Steve arrived, after which he was told to relax a few more times by the captain. Only then was he finally told that he'd been out for a few days, that Loki had managed to escape, and that, just as he figured right before he passed out, landing face first in the corpse dust, Fury had indeed managed to convince Odin to break the spell disabling Loki's magic, after which Loki was able to summon enough of it to teleport himself to an unknown location. Before, of course, shoving the ball down Tony's throat and nearly causing him to suffocate on _condensed air_. The news papers would've loved that one. Steve made sure to point out several times that this was by no means Tony's fault, causing him to laugh dismissively, assuring him he was not only aware of that, but also fairly pissed for once again being the one to nearly die because of Fury's incompetence. Of course, Steve knew just as well as Tony that he was, in fact, blaming himself. Loki was the _god_ of lies. No amount of sympathy could have made him forget that simple and important fact. Or at least it shouldn't have. And he knew that no amount of pain would make Loki forget his hatred for Thor, and everyone else who dared to disrespect him. He would never have accepted their help, let alone pity. And yet somehow, seeing him hanging from the chains like an abused animal, all that was needed to make those thoughts disappear was a small, extra amount of empathy.

With each day passed, Tony's complaining and nagging about wanting to leave the damn hospital grew. He needed to get the hell out of there, eat some real food and start _actually_ putting together the device he had been constructing in his mind. Sure, things were still a bit hazy, but he was absolutely confident that it would work. He would be able to trace Loki down and, with some help from Odin's _infinite _wisdom and knowledge, successfully disable Loki's magic. And keep it that way. And then... well, he wasn't quite sure what he would do after that. But he sure as hell wouldn't let Loki simply forget what happened.

»That little shit,« Tony mumbled to himself, just as somebody walked in.

»Anthony Stark,« came the deep voice, and Tony didn't bother looking up.

»Yeah, yeah, I know,« he moaned miserably, not in the mood for another person, or god, giving him the exact same speech as everyone before them. Thor sat down awkwardly on the chair next to the bed.

»Anthony, both I nor the All-father blame you for-«

»Yes! Yes. I know. No one is blaming me,« Tony exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. »Believe it or not, the whole thing hadn't traumatized me half as much as you people have managed to in the last few days. I'm not a little girl.«

Finally looking up at Thor, he was somewhat surprised. The god looked almost worn out, his shoulders slumped, his eyes tired and filled with regret.

»My brother...« he said quietly, »he did not try to kill you. He disappeared the ball as soon as you were asleep.«

»Then why the hell have I been sitting here for a week?«

Thor sighed. Defending his brother was a routine for him now. He knew Loki's resentment had roots in their childhood days, and Thor regretted all those times he did not treat Loki with respect. But unlike Thor, who was a noble, but simple man who experienced simple emotions, Loki had always been a creature of extreme complexity. Thor would never dream of fully understanding him, but he had learned, although too late, that Loki felt the sting of mockery very strongly. He never got along well with other children, speaking of things they did not care about, using language they did not understand, and Thor's fault laid in his lack of action when others would pick on Loki. They trained together, and the children would mock him for his defeat, and laugh when he tried making up for the lack of strength with agility. Thor had since tried very hard to remedy it, Loki's feeling of betrayal slowly reducing. '_It was their fault, never yours, brother, never'_, Thor told him countless times. Loki knew he would never belong, but it was okay, because it wasn't his fault. Then everything changed. The day when Loki learned of his true heritage.

'_I'm finally free,' _he told him, _'free of the obligation to care about you, _brother,' he spat, mockery and disgust dripping from his voice. But Thor knew that what Loki truly feared was _Thor _being freed of the obligation of loving _him. _He knew Loki was a time bomb of the most dangerous kind. Powerful, but fragile. So determined never to accept love, he was starved of it to the bone. But so skilled was he in the art of deceit, that he could put fake flesh on the bones, the well-fed body on display for all to see how superior and deserving he was. Thor was the only man in existence who saw the skeleton. Loki's hateful glares and harsh words spoke to him only of loneliness, craving and pain. _'Never your fault,_' Thor mouthed at the Destroyer's hollow eyes, _'never your fault,_' he whispered as Loki fought desperately to pierce his heart with the spear, _'never your fault_' before Loki dropped him from the sky in a glass prison. But it didn't matter to Loki, because it couldn't have been their fault. He was the monster. Everything made better sense now.

»I will help you find him, man of iron,« he said wearily, as he made his way to the exit. »We will disable his magic and put him in one of your jails.« Closing the door behind him, he still heard the humourless laugh.

»You know what, I think you can keep him.«


	3. Chapter 3

»Sir, I believe you are aware what an incredibly bad idea this is,« JARVIS stated calmly, gathering and processing the information from the cameras and equipment from all over the mansion, from which it was possible to deduce that JARVIS' statement was entirely objective, for Tony was, in fact, working on an incredibly bad idea. Tony tilted his head, looking up from his work to stare at the wall thoughtfully for a few seconds.

»Jarvis, why do your calculations not yet include the statistical analysis I uploaded last week which _clearly_ shows I _always _win in the end?"

"If you consider not dying a victory, then yes, sir, that _will_ only happen once," the voice replied smoothly.

A few extra waves in the air and precise finger movements, and a large 3D map of the city appeared before Tony. He sat back, brows furrowed, as the computer scanned the entire area with great speed and precision. It stopped at the industrial park, smoothly zooming in and scanning again, then repeating the process a few more times until it settled at a location, a red mark now flashing on the screen, with exact coordinates displayed next to it.

Tony sat there motionless, staring at the flashing light, looking extremely thoughtful, but his mind was blank. Somewhere at the back of his head, thoughts were racing, decisions undoubtedly being made and opinions formed, but like a mindless soldier, he had no say in it.

"Jarvis, suit," he said finally, the mindful AI already reaching the conclusion that any attempts at changing his mind, or suggesting he contacts the rest of the Avengers, would be in vain. The statistical analysis was very clear on this: the probability of his maker taking any form of advice, from anyone, were roughly zero. Tony could swear Jarvis was suiting him up almost wearily, were these not mechanical hands whose every move was entirely predictable, described perfectly by a series of zeros and ones. "I wish everyone was programmable like you, Jarvis," he sighed in a mockingly loving tone, as his helmet closed smoothly over his head.

"Shall I set the course for Mr. Laufeyson, sir?" asked the voice unaffectedly, but not waiting for an answer. Tony was already deep in his thoughts, barely even noticing he has left the mansion and was now flying through the air above the city. He watched the buzzing beneath him absentmindedly, countless numbers of people going about their daily lives, thinking their worries important and their tasks meaningful. How clueless they must be, how completely ignorant of the fact that their lives all depended on the actions of a rash and slightly intoxicated playboy. To be honest, he'd forgotten about that a little as well. Of course, he wasn't completely crazy. He had recorded a message for the Avengers, instructing Jarvis to send it off if anything went wrong. The last time he saw him, Loki was, although still his perfidious, vile self, physically completely broken. But more than a week had passed since, and as strenuous as it must have been, the trickster had definitely already healed his frayed body enough to put up a decent fight. Tony was only worried just how good an Asgardian 'decent' was. He had taken up Thor once, and Thor was a lot bigger than his brother. But it wasn't the superior strength which made Loki's enemies shiver. It was the scale and complexity of his schemes, never knowing if you've reached the end. Even when defeated, the winner would be left wondering in fear if this was not simply one of the steps in the god's plot. Knowing that every word was carefully planned, and that every word was a _lie_.

Jarvis' voice informing him he has reached the destination snapped him back to reality, and the iron man moved his heavy arms and legs in a landing position, slowly approaching the ground. The sound of the landing slowly spread out until everything was quiet again. The area was abandoned and looked like it had been for a while, with lonesome rusty containers that had given up on life a long time ago. A sick-looking black cat was lazily making its way towards him from the other side of the yard, and Tony genuinely wondered if the trickster might have transformed himself into a cat. He zoomed in on it and searched the feline's features for any sign of malice and evil before realizing that this was, after all, a cat.

"It's not the cat, sir," came the voice, and Tony just could not believe how he managed to make a machine this sarcastic. "The fluctuation hasn't moved. It is located inside the dark blue container on your far left."

Tony turned, located it, and slowly began walking towards the large metal box. There was a cracking sound, followed by a large piece of the paint coming flying through the air and hitting the ground with a loud thump right in front of the iron man, forcing him to take a step back. He stood there, suddenly paralyzed. Images of blue leather hanging from the fiend's battered body hit him hard, blinding him. A short wave of burning pain shot through his head as his mind fought desperately to keep the memories locked up. "_Fuck,_" he muttered under his breath, squeezing his eyes shut tightly in a failed attempt to calm himself. Feinting confidence, he stepped over the paint and entering the dark box. "Some lights, Jarv," he said quietly and a dim light flooded the place discreetly. Making a full circle slowly, he scanned the place warily for any signs of life. Nothing.

"Where exactly is the signal coming from?" he whispered, and Jarvis wordlessly marked an area on Tony's right. Pointing the light at it, the corner appeared empty. Luckily, Tony Stark trusted his devices much more than reality. Without looking away, he reached down, his metal fingers wrapping around a rock. Without further hesitation, he flung it at the corner. But before the rock reached the wall of the container, it suddenly changed direction, bouncing back before landing on the ground. A subtle emerald green light appeared where the rock changed course, fading away as quickly as it came. _You little fucker_, he thought, jumping towards it with his arms wide open, grabbing at thin air. As soon as his hands connected with the invisible matter, a form materialised in his arms. The iron man gripped the figure dangerously tight, a wave of pride rushing through him at the thought of outsmarting the well-hidden captive. But as the feeling faded away, he noticed the figure was unmoving. He loosened the grip as carefully as the suit would allow, but the body immediately slumped to the floor. He took a step back, aiming at it with the arc reactor-powered weapon built in in the palm of his hand, the white light further lighting up the creature. Motionless, his black hair covered with amber dust, his once gracious black coat now stained with blood, used and torn.

"Get up, you miserable shit," Tony spat, kicking him between the ribs, turning the body on its back. Loki lay on the ground lifelessly, as blood bubbled from his mouth, already forming a small puddle next to his head. 'No,' echoed the rational part of Tony's mind at the other, which threatened stupidly with pity. His eyes took in the sight of the deceitful creature laying there pathetically, its bloodied face covered with scars of all sizes, all pulsating quietly in memory of all the lives the monster had selfishly taken and all that he would have eventually destroyed had he succeeded in his quest to rule the realm of the humans. The scars were now a reminder for the human standing before him not of the pain and suffering the god had endured, but of the pain and suffering he had caused. And so he once more experienced the feeling connected exclusively to Loki – the feeling of being only another helpless rat in a carefully constructed maze, every feeble attempt at outsmarting the designer already predicted before the game had even begun. He felt his heart beginning to beat hysterically in his chest and the blood rushing more violently through his veins. The foreign feeling of helplessness was hanging threateningly above his head.

"Inform the others," he said in a thin, uncertain voice.

Time seemed to slow down with each passed second, like hot wax spilling over the top of the candle and trying to make its way to the bottom. Reality itself transformed to a dense liquid growing stickier by the second. His eyes were transfixed on the haunting face before him. He thought he saw the lips spread out in a terrifying grin, and it was in that moment that his ego shattered. How foolish of him to think himself above the ant-sized people who crawled across the city simply because he flew above them in his unique suit. Just as their worries were unimportant and their tasks meaningless before the superhero, so were his thoughts and actions useless and empty before the deity. Each blood drop landed on its fated place, each scar shaped according to plan. The god of lies was the only beholder of the truth.


	4. Chapter 4

Tony found himself once again lying in bed in a room full of his worried coworkers. He soon realized it wasn't him they were worried about, but rather the man who was also lying in a bed, the one that had been moved to the most secured prison cell on the planet. Six hundred feet beneath them, Loki was being treated by the SHIELD approved doctors, their every move followed by nineteen HD cameras which were being monitored by the same number of agents, who were also being monitored. The bit of information Fury kept from the men in the room involved magic-detecting devices which would, at even the smallest trace of it, seal the room entirely. The doctors eventually came to the conclusion that there was little they could do for the Asgardian, as his flesh barely responded to any of their treatments. Althrough he appreared to be in a state which would have killed a human, his body seemed to be healing itself fast enough for the bare eye to notice. Most of the doctors left, a few staying behind to regulate the additional hydration of the body, which seemed to help the healing.

Tony, on the other hand, after describing his experience from earlier that day, was met with strange looks and dismissive comments, which only further deepened his embarrassment over feeling such dispair. It was not until later that Thor explained to him that the feelings were caused by a spell which had been often used in times of war by warriors who were capable of practicing magic. Being weaker and less skilled when it came to fighting, they were more easily wounded. As they went into a healing trance, they made themselves invisible and used this spell, which would cause anyone with ill intent who approched them to feel helpless and dishearted, thus discouraging them from continuing their search and allowing other warriors to defeat them more easily.

Feeling somehow even more embarrassed than before, Tony deemed pouring himself a drink the most wise decision at that moment, and later deciding to replace the small glass with the bottle instead. Sitting uncharactheristically quietly in the corner of the room, he watched his friends discuss what the most appropriate course of action would be. Having nothing to contibute to the discussion, he concentrated on emptying the bottle of scotch as fast as possible. After hearing his spiritually-sounding speech involving rats in a maze, no one was too keen on hearing his thoughts either. His mind was blank, the occasional swing of the bottle on auto-pilot, as he stared at the floor. Had anyone been paying attention to him, they would have noticed when he suddenly stood up and slowly limped his way to the elevator, he himself not registering anything until the bottle was suddenly empty, and he found himself smoothly being transported underground. The door swished open, the two agents stepping aside when they saw the newcomer was Tony Stark. Looking past the worrying amount of weapons, he saw the occupied cage he himself built in the middle of the room. Half trying his intoxicate state not to show and half not really giving a shit, he determinately made his way to the transparent walls. He punched in the code, ignoring the worried comments coming from the agents near by and the camera's excitement as it zoomed in on his movements, the door opened smoothly and he walked inside, excusing the two doctors and all but pushing them out before closing and locking the door behind him. Not even glancing at the body, he began searching through the stack of medicine, holding a few up closer to his eyes then throwing it back into the stack, before deciding on one with a shrug. He turned around, stabbed a needle into the bottle, pulled it out and stabbed it into Loki's arm. The god's eyes shot open a second later.

»Over here, buddy,« Tony said, waving his hand in front of Loki's face. The pair of eyes that settled on him were unfocused and confused.

»Yeah, nice to see you again. Feeling better?« he asked, resting his hand on the other's arm. Loki's mouth opened slightly as he slowly blinked.

»Hey, tell you what. You start talking real soon or I start losing my shit, how's that sound, pal?« he said in a calm voice and discreetly tightened his grip. But Loki's eyes held little comprehension and he could feel his control slipping away, gradually increasing the pressure on the god's arm. He saw Fury yelling at the men who desperately attempted to open the door.

»Where am I?« he heard the hoarse voice whisper beneath him, and his mind was clouded by blind rage. The door slid open just as he began throwing punches at the god.


End file.
